


If Someone Tells You to Leave, You Get Out

by AnnieMar, ifinkufreaky, livebynight, underthenorthstar



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Category 5 Sex Hurricane Fest, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2018-12-29 18:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieMar/pseuds/AnnieMar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifinkufreaky/pseuds/ifinkufreaky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/livebynight/pseuds/livebynight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/underthenorthstar/pseuds/underthenorthstar
Summary: What happens when you get stuck in a hotel room with Ivar Lothbrok during a hurricane evacuation? Oh, the possibilities.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The four of us have been wanting to do a "round-robin" and were waiting for an inspiring prompt to come to us. Then one day we were all together in a room in New Orleans and happened to be watching CNN, when the headline "If Someone Tells You to Leave, You Get Out" flashes across the screen during Anderson Cooper's Hurricane Irma coverage. 
> 
> We were all in agreement, and thus, with a lot of laughter, the story begins ...
> 
> In celebration of one of our favorite tropes ... "forced bed-sharing". 
> 
> You know us. This will be explicit. Only trigger warning is that there will be a hurricane. Enjoy ;-)

“If someone tells you to leave, you get out.” You almost flinch at the intensity with which Ivar Lothbrok bites off each word.

“Then go, already,” you toss back at him. “I don’t need you hovering.”

His fingers clench around the grips of his crutches, but he makes no move to go. Just tips his head and gives you that cocky little smile, the one that reveals the press of his tongue behind his teeth. “It is only that it looks as if you need my help.”

“I don’t - think I - appreciate - what you’re suggesting.” Your voice hitches with almost every other word; the tangled knots in your clothes become tighter and tighter the harder you pull. A desperate, hurried attempt at tearing your clothes from the closet in a rush to pack and get the fuck out. Not five feet away, the suitcase is hanging opened, teetering haphazardly over the edge of a chair.

“We don’t have much time,” you huff. “And you’re distracting me.”

“If you would have not wasted so much time in front of the television and panicking perhaps we could be on more of a timely evacuation route,” he sniffs, rolling his eyes. “At this rate, the highways will be completely gridlocked. We should have left ages ago, but no, you just had to watch that blasted Andrew Compton or whatever-”

“It’s Anderson Cooper,” you shoot him an offended glare. “And he is an amazing journalist that does not deserve your thinly veiled disdain. Now shut up and let me pack.” You give up on attempting to untangle your clothes and simply throw the tangled wad into the waiting suitcase.

You try not to care about the aggravated huff you hear passing between Ivar’s perfect lips, but you definitely react when the sound of Anderson’s soothing voice is cut out abruptly. You whirl toward the blank screen, and the sight of the remote in Ivar’s hand. “Why did you turn that off?” you screech.

“It was distracting you,” he smirks, echoing your earlier line.

“Turn that back on,” you demand. When Ivar doesn’t move you rush toward him, intending to snatch the remote from his hand.

Ivar guesses your intention. The batteries are out of the remote in a second, dropped into the pocket of his jeans in the next.

You stop abruptly; Ivar’s on his crutches and there’s no way of getting the batteries without tackling him to the ground… A thought almost entertainable, but as more sirens blare outside, you straighten yourself out. The wind is howling and you can already hear the excitement of the rest of your apartment building clearing out. Ivar gives you a final glare, and with a growl, you zip up your suitcase and throw on your jacket. You’ll have to collect your resolve on the drive to the hotel.

“ _Finally_ ,” Ivar groans.

“Just shut up and get to the car.”

“Honestly. I don’t know why I didn’t just let you ride out the storm here like you had planned.”

“Because you need someone to drive you to the hotel you booked and none of your other neighbors want to deal with your ass.”

“I could have easily—”

“You could _not_ have easily gotten your driver,” you interrupted. “He’s already evacuated.”

“I would have had no problem calling him to come back over here.”

You roll your eyes while shutting and locking your door, but you keep your mouth shut. You know full well that he speaks the truth … Ivar had that kind of sway. The clout to make someone head back into the path of a category 5 hurricane. Somehow he had the power to tap on his cellphone and make just about anything happen, and you opted not to think on it just then.

The hallways are swamped with people, but they all move out of your way when they see who is with you. Ivar is not well liked by your neighbours, and today it works to your advantage. You make it down to the parking garage in record time. Ivar slides into the passenger seat as  you pop the trunk to put in your suitcase. You roll your eyes as you see that it’s already half full- that sneaky little bastard.

“You put your bags in my trunk,” you accuse as you get into the driver’s seat. “I feel like that was assuming a lot.”

“I assumed a kind, bleeding heart type like you wouldn’t leave a poor, crippled man like me behind in a raging storm,” he smirks, and if you roll your eyes anymore, they will likely get stuck pointed to the back of your skull. “Besides, I am the one who booked us shelter in a hotel.”

“Us?” you repeat. It seems doubtful he actually thought of you when he made his evacuation plan, but the sliver of hope that he might have done so still made your heart flutter in your chest.

“Do you have somewhere else to go?” Ivar asks, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. You pause for just a moment to appreciate how well-dressed the boy always is, even in the midst of a disaster.

The rain is already hammering down outside the garage, little rivulets of water trickling down the ramp and toward your car. It probably wouldn’t be safe to try and travel back here after dropping Ivar off. “It’s only a seven hour drive to my dad’s house.”.

Ivar checks his watch with a flourish. “And it is already five p.m.”

You sigh.

“ _And_ you hate your father.”

“No,” you insist immediately, “I hate my _stepmother_.”

Ivar just waits.

“...who is the only one that’s going to be home. Dad’s out of the country.”

“My plan is better,” Ivar says dismissively. Then at your stifled pause - “If it is that _horrid_ to think of spending a night with me, then -”

“- It’s fine, Ivar,” you hasten. You didn’t want to offend him, especially given that he’s taken the liberty of making arrangements for you - safe arrangements. His tone already sounded hurt enough… _That_ was definitely not part of your imagination.

~~ ✺ ϟ ✺ ~~

The hotel is even more chaotic than the apartment building had been. People run and flock in disarray; children are screaming and crying, car alarms can be heard from inside the lobby, and the staff rushes in a panic to accommodate each patron that floods in.

You follow Ivar to the front desk. He seems oddly calm given the circumstances, mostly just irritated that he has to bustle through a crowd that doesn’t give a second glance to the young man on crutches.  

The mob is so distracting that you don’t even follow his discussion with the lobby clerk until he’s snapping about his booking.

“I specifically asked for two beds,” Ivar hisses.

On a normal, peaceful day, the clerk might’ve been more sympathetic. But all he can do now is shrug - beads of sweat littering his forehead - ready to brush Ivar aside for the next customer.

“This isn’t how we normally operate, and for that I apologize,” he explains. “But the one Queen is all I can offer.”

Ivar opens his mouth to argue when you interrupt. “It’ll do, Ivar,” you tell him. “It’s better than being out there.”

He still grumbles until you gesture to the front windows. The rotating doors seem to swivel on their own from the strength of the wind and it’s pouring outside. You both are wet from the rain, and at this point, you’d rather just get warm and dry again regardless of the bed situation.

When you get to the room you drop your bags, look around, and sigh in relief. It’s actually surprisingly cozy and so much safer than riding out the storm near the coast. “Thanks, Ivar,” you say quietly.

He’s in the middle of taking his jacket off and you can see his eyebrows raise a little at your change in tone.

He runs a hand through his wet hair. “It is nothing,” he mutters, looking down. You smirk to yourself, knowing that you have at least somewhat of an effect on him.

“You should take the bed, Ivar,” you say, thinking of his legs. “You paid for this, set it all up. I have no problem sleeping on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffs. “We are both adults, are we not?”

You shrug and give a laugh. “Sometimes.”

He gives you a wry smile. “Funny.” He sighs, and something unreadable flits across his face. “I would not feel right taking the bed while you sleep on the floor. My mother did not raise a complete heathen. We will share the bed, if you are alright with that.”

You look at the bed, all soft and comfy. It looks so much nicer than the floor, but the idea of sharing a bed with Ivar is slightly unnerving. Just the thought of lying next to him in the dark, feeling the heat of him only a hairsbreadth away has you suddenly feeling a little woozy.

“Is that something that makes you uncomfortable?” Ivar interrupts your thoughts, and for the second time today you hear that nearly indecipherable hurt in his voice. It tugs at something inside of you, and you quickly shake your head.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you wave your hand dismissively, wheeling your suitcase over to the left side of the bed. “We’ll share. Why don’t you have the shower first? I want to watch the news for a bit, see if anything has changed.”

Ivar huffs. “I’m sure your silver-haired journalist is just fine.”

“Look, I just need to know that Anderson is okay,” you insist with a self-conscious giggle. “...And if he took his jacket off again. Dude is a fox.”

Ivar drops down onto the bed beside you and bends to remove his shoes, but not before making sure you see him roll his eyes.

“What? You’ve got to admit he’s got guns.”

Ivar strips his own jacket off, revealing a tight-fitting black undershirt. You can’t help but let your eyes trail down the bulge of his biceps, easily rivalling the ones you were intending on ogling when you turned on the TV.

There’s a wry grin on Ivar’s face and you realize he caught you looking. He settles his crutches under his arms again, hoists himself up. “Have fun with your little crush,” he calls over his shoulder as he crosses to the bathroom, and you swear he wiggles his butt just a little bit for you before disappearing behind the door.

It’s not until he turns the water on that you realize you haven’t moved, just staring at the door he closed behind him. Was Ivar Lothbrok just _flirting_ with you?

~~ ✺ ϟ ✺ ~~

Ivar’s laughter interrupts you as you're combing out your hair. You could've sworn you'd never heard him laugh like that before. It's loud and filled with raspy breathing in a way that creates an image of him doubled over, clutching his stomach.

Curiosity has you open the door.

He is indeed doubled over, hunched on one side of the bed dressed in a pair of sweats and a baggy T-shirt as he laughs at the television.

“Did you change the channel?” you accuse through narrowed eyes.

Ivar shakes his head, merely points at the TV. His cheeks are flushed, eyes teary. A sight so delightfully bizarre, you don’t even care what’s on the fucking television.

“This poor woman,” he cackles without a hint of sympathy. “You cannot even understand what she's saying! I’m waiting for her to get blown away.”

You finally look - see the reporter on screen who is desperately holding onto a street sign in a fight against the storm. Ivar is right - you can't even hear her as she screams into her microphone. The wind is too loud, and the camera is blurred with rain.

“Come.” Ivar beckons, patting the seat next to him. “They’re just _watching_ from the studio. It's been like this for ten minutes at least.”

For the moment, you forget you're in nothing but a towel. Strut over to join Ivar on the bed. You laugh with him despite yourself; Sarah the Reporter is an absolute trainwreck.

“Ok… But where is Anderson?”

Ivar's laughter is still sobering so he can't even scoff at you this time. “He makes the big bucks,” he says. “They wouldn't dare keep him in these conditions. Your precious Fox cannot be left in danger.”

You pout, knowing he's probably right, but all the same, Anderson is a better eyeful than the screaming madwoman on TV now.

“Better yet,” Ivar adds in nonchalance. “He’s probably holed up in some hotel with his _own_ naked companion.”

“Wha-?” You look over confused, only to find Ivar wearing his infamous shit-eating grin. He wiggles his brows at you suggestively, and only then do you realize…

“Oh my god!”

You jump off the bed and dart to the bathroom, clutching the tiny towel to your frame. You shut the door and breathe for a second, wondering exactly how much of an eyeful he got. Hotel towels were so papery thin, and you hadn’t even been thinking, watching the poor reporter being made to stand outside with the eye of a hurricane coming closer and closer. You’d also been distracted by Ivar’s laugh. His entire face had lit up, and the attractiveness of it had inspired a little shock and awe.

You hurry up and get dressed in a pair of comfortable leggings and an old and snug band t-shirt that’s been washed a million times. You hadn’t exactly been thinking straight when you threw clothes into your suitcase, what with a hurricane coming and Ivar hovering. You look at yourself in a mirror. “It’s alright,” you say to your reflection. “You can spend a night or two with Ivar. It’s not the end of the world. I think. Hopefully we still have an apartment building after this … but still. You can do this.”

You think about the crush on him you really don’t want to admit to. You blink and realize that it had been building for months. In the beginning he was just another irritating and entitled rich kid that happened to move in next door to you. Then one day he was outside your door with several comic books that had been accidentally delivered to his place. At first you thought he’d been judging you. A grown woman reading comic books. But then the corner of his mouth turned up into the tiniest of grins. He’d held up copies of Hawkeye and Sex Crimes. “Matt Fraction fan?” he’d correctly assumed.

Since that day you had developed something resembling a friendship at times. There were certain television shows and movies you’d watch together, always arguing over the the changes made from the comic book they were based on. You’d vent to each other about the Secret Empire storyline. But it was never anything more than that. Or so you assumed.

You turn sideways and look at yourself in the mirror one more time. You look pretty good for being in your PJs, you have to admit. And you feel so much better after a nice hot shower. You straighten your shoulders and head back into the room.

Ivar is still sprawled across his side of the bed, the channel now on the latest Captain America movie. Well, if you can't see Anderson, Bucky Barnes is definitely a good second. You make your way over to your side of the bed, deliberately avoiding looking at Ivar directly in the face. Your cheeks are still a little flushed from your nearly naked peep show, and you don't really need to see if that shit eating grin is still plastered across his handsome face.

“Team Cap or Team Iron Man?” Ivar asks as you sink onto the bed. You let out a tiny sigh of relief. Good, he isn't going to tease you further.

“Team Cap, duh,” you say. “Is there even really a choice?”

“No,” Ivar agrees with you, and suddenly you can feel his eyes raking over your body. “Nice pj’s.”

You huff, so much for no more teasing. “You’re not exactly wearing Dolce and Gabana either.”

He snorts. “I don't need designer labels to look damn good.”

You roll your eyes at his arrogance, but you have to agree with him. He'd look amazing even if he was dressed in a dirty garbage bag. You can't help but think about what he would look like in just a flimsy hotel towel, slung dangerously low on his hips, a tiny drop of water running down his neck and over his beautifully defined chest…..

You abruptly break off that chain of thought, suddenly feeling uncomfortably hot. Your mouth is faster than your brain, opening for the comeback you haven't thought of yet, when there's an odd beeping and whirring sound that's definitely not from the movie.

Both you and Ivar look up for the source; the lights flicker once… Twice… A final beeping and the room floods with darkness.

“Fuck.”

“You've got that right,” Ivar concurs. “I had best receive a full refund when we check out.”

You roll your eyes as you get up to fetch the candles you brought in case this would happen. Ivar might've been thinking on money spent, but your heart was racing a little faster - there'd be no distractions now. Just you and Ivar. With each other.

Once some candles are lit, you join him on the bed again, trying to ignore the way he looks under candlelight. The shadows play with his bold features, and the orange light makes his skin glow. _Again_ , he catches you staring, but this time spares you the smartass remark.

“Tuck me in?” He asks instead, and you quickly decide you'd prefer the smartass remark. Ivar's being bratty, of course. He can do this himself. All the same, you grip onto the heavy comforter and crisp sheet and bury yourselves under it.

Ivar’s slouching on the headboard; even in the dark, you sense his gaze as you reach over his hip to make sure he is, in fact, tucked in.

“Are you a blanket hog?” He mostly accuses as he sinks down on the bed.

“Just you wait and find out.” You reclaim some strength in sassing again, following his lead to lay down next to him. “I might be a sleep puncher to-”

You scream as some type of debris slams into the window opposite the bed, nearly jumping out of your skin in Ivar’s direction. You latch onto him without thinking, clutching his large bicep to your chest as if the limb alone will keep the storm at bay.

“Shit, sorry,” you apologize, though your voice shakes and you don't move to let go of him. The weather outside is getting worse, and you'd never been more grateful to have been forcibly evacuated by Ivar.

“Not to worry,” he retorts, concealing the slightest chuckle. “I will protect you from the big, bad storm.”

You gulp, loosening your vice grip on his arm, but you still don't release him. Somehow, the young man manages to speak with such conviction, you believe him. The tension in your chest begins to drain.

You’re still holding his arm. Why are you still holding his arm? You and Ivar have never been physically affectionate before, but somehow it feels right. You push your luck, settle your head on the edge of the pillow beside him, your cheek resting against his shoulder. “I’ll just be here, hiding behind you until the storm is over,” you say, continuing the joke, squeezing his arm once more for emphasis. Silently marveling at the density of his musculature, the clean smell of hotel soap and the tantalizing scent underneath it that is all him.

Ivar doesn’t say anything. You wish you could see his face but don’t dare to lift your head and look.

Finally his voice rings through the silence of the room. “You are touching me.”

Your fingers fly open, cheeks burning as you pull yourself away from him. How creepy were you just being? Could he tell you were smelling him? “I’m so sorry!” you exclaim, scooting to the edge of the bed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“No,” Ivar says, voice still calm, “I was enjoying it.” He raises his arm and it’s like you’re seeing the gates to Valhalla open in front of you. Ivar Lothbrok wants to _cuddle?_

You scoot your body closer to his again, but you’re still feeling nervous about offending him. You lay your head on his shoulder, facing him, but don’t quite let the rest of your bodies touch. He bends his arm to receive you, warm hand coming to rest somewhere between your back and your side, splayed awkwardly over your ribs.

The room is silent again. You can’t think of anything to say. You can’t quite think of anything but how good it would feel to roll over on top of this boy right now and have your way with him, though you’re trying hard to be a little more respectful than that.

Ivar’s eyes are open; he seems to be studying the ceiling. “Are you sleepy?” he asks.

“Not really, but there isn’t much else to do, is there.”

“We could play a game,” he suggests.

You suppress a little thrill. This sounds like the beginning of half the fanfics you’ve ever read. “What kind of game?” you ask, hoping to sound just a little sultry.

Ivar hums in the back of his throat. “I didn’t bring any cards. Surely we must be able to remember some sort of sleepover games… Truth or Dare? Two Truths and a Lie?”

“Hm. It’s too bad we didn’t pack any booze, we could have played ‘Never Have I Ever’. Had a proper hurricane party.”

You feel Ivar’s chest rumble. “We were in too much of a hurry to think of all that. And you were too distracted with the television, and whether your _amazing journalist_ had his jacket on or off.”

You shake your head, craning your neck and peering up at him in the dark. “Are you on this again? What … are you jealous of Anderson?”

Ivar huffs a short laugh. “I just find it funny that you think you’re on a first-name basis with the man. You realize he prefers the company of men, do you not?”

You give a sigh. “Of course, Ivar. Anderson is just one in a long line of inappropriate crushes on dudes that it’ll never happen with. In a way it makes it more fun.”

You can almost _hear_ his brow furrow. “Who else do you have an inappropriate crush on?” he tries to ask nonchalantly.

“Shall this be a question for the game?” you laugh.

“If you wish,” he answers, and just as he does, a flash of lightning washes the room in bright white, revealing the look he’s giving you, one of longing that perhaps he would have rather kept hidden in the dark.

“Alright,” you answer softly, along with the thunder. The energy from the storm was perhaps making you brave ... or stupid. One of the two. “Two Truths and A Lie. I have a crush on Anderson Cooper, on your brother Sigurd, and on _you_.”

Lightning flashes again and you see his features working out what you’ve revealed. Ivar knows how much you _hate_ his brother … so the only logical conclusion to the game has to be …

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion, or rather, the most detailed sexual encounter of all time ;-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone! And now we conclude our 'round robin' story. We have had SO MUCH FUN with this. 
> 
> We also felt it was important to include a link for a charity providing disaster relief to Puerto Rico in the aftermath of Hurricane Maria. 
> 
> [Global Giving](https://www.globalgiving.org/projects/hurricane-maria-caribbean-relief-fund/) ... vetted through [Charity Navigator](https://www.charitynavigator.org/index.cfm?bay=content.view&cpid=5356), they received a very high score. You can see many others at the link as well.

_“Alright,” you answer softly, along with the thunder. “Two Truths and A Lie. I have a crush on Anderson Cooper, on your brother Sigurd, and on you.”_

_Lightning flashes again and you see his features working out what you’ve revealed. Ivar knows how much you_ hate _his brother … so the only logical conclusion to the game has to be …_

_~~ ✺ ϟ ✺ ~~_

You wait, breath held in anticipation. Ivar does not respond. You can hear the soft whooshing of his breath as he inhales and exhales, and it's a little shaky. Your heart twists. Did you misread his expression? Is he offended by your implied meaning of your statement? You had sworn the look on his handsome face was one of yearning, but perhaps you had been mistaken.

Your heart sinks lower the longer the silence stretches between you. Just as you are about to scoot away from him, to tell him you’re sorry and let's just forget about it, you feel his calloused hand gently cupping your face.

“Sigurd is my favourite brother, I am extremely jealous of that stupid journalist, and all I can think about right now is how much I want to kiss you,” his voice is softer than you've ever heard it, tinged with almost a childlike hope.

You let out a shaky breath, the skin of your cheek burning underneath the touch of his hand. Lightning fills the room once more, and you can see everything as plain as day written across his face. You did not misread him. Ivar Lothbrok wants you. Ivar Lothbrok likes you. So what the hell are you doing just laying here staring at him?

“It’s not your turn,” you whisper, leaning forward ever so slightly. His hand slips to the back of your neck, fingers squeezing gently as he begins to slowly pull you in closer. “You’re supposed to guess my lie.”

His lips are only millimetres away. “I'd rather you guess my truth,” he says quietly, and the hope in his voice is so sincere that it knocks the breath right out of you.

You lift your chin ever so slightly; the tip of Ivar’s tongue flicks out, wetting his bottom lip. His eyes are fixed on your mouth. “Not Sigurd,” you all but whisper.

Ivar shakes his head no, a tiny movement meant not to disturb the moment, and leans somehow even closer. You can feel his breath on your face. His lashes flutter as his eyes flick back up to yours.

“I knew you were jealous of Anderson,” you try to tease, coming to his next statement, but your triumph pales in comparison to the unavoidable conclusion looming next as you watch Ivar’s lips twist into a self-conscious little smirk.

“With good reason, seeing as he is on your ‘inappropriate crush’ list…” he trails off again, and you both hold your breaths, waiting to see who is going to acknowledge the unavoidable conclusion first.

“And that means,” you start, dragging out the last word for a dramatic pause, but before you can finish your sentence Ivar breaks. He closes the tiny distance between your faces, capturing your bottom lip between his own.

You feel like a bottle of champagne someone has just popped open. An effervescent tingling spreads out from your chest and down your arms as you reach up to put your hands on his body. To steady yourself as much as to embrace him. You press your lips to his as you kiss him back; his wide mouth feels as good as you had imagined in those silent hours watching TV together on your couch. His last truth has become yours too: you forget the violent storm outside and lose yourself in the play of his lips.

Ivar is the one to break the kiss first. “And how long have you had this ‘inappropriate crush’ on me?” he asks with a smirk, the cocky Ivar returning already. His gorgeous face beams down on you in the dim candlelight. Though his cheeks are flushed and his lips are puffy you see him already recovering from his moment of vulnerability, determined to keep the upper hand with his characteristic doses of mockery and arrogance.

“Mrs. Harrison,” you start, thankful for the small distraction. Already, you are winded, and you're trying not to feel embarrassed over how eagerly your hands splay on Ivar’s toned chest. “When you cussed her out in the parking lot.”

Ivar snorts, shakes with laughter in attempt to keep from exclaiming in your face. It helps ease your nerves.

“That is what does it for you, huh?” The laughter quickly fades and you feel yourself grow hot as his eyes drop to your mouth again. His hips shift to move your bodies closer; your chests are flush together, abdomens gravitating toward the same. You try not to moan while Ivar secures you in his hold - there's not much space left before you’ll be entirely sealed against him. The thought of wrapping your legs around him becomes all too tempting, sends such a strong throbbing to your lower half that is almost threatening.

“My scolding of old women?” he continues, voice dropping into something so low and sexy that not even the slightest whimper can be held down.

“Talk dirty to me,” you tease before you combust. And Ivar’s lips are on you again.

This time is more hurried, you move together like you're running out of time, rocking back and forth to decide who gets to be on top. There's a carefulness there, a need to stay respectful, but then Ivar’s hands clamp down on your neck and hip and the moan you've been holding onto soars from your chest when he turns you on your back.

For once, he does not stop to make a cocky remark, gloat for even a second that you already appear to be writhing beneath him like a sex-starved animal. He simply tilts his head, prods your mouth open with a low growl, and glides his tongue between your lips.

If your eyes had been opened, they would've crossed. Ivar tastes so good, his mouth _feels_ so good. His kiss transitions into something so heated, you find your head spinning.

You weave your fingers through his soft hair; it's still cool and slightly damp. It becomes anchorage as his hands rub into your sides, attempting to sort out from your reactions what is too much, too bold. But you bend  toward each of his grips, as if trying to fill his grasp and egg him onward.

A rough palm courses down your thigh, only pausing above your knee. You feel your brows furrow, but then Ivar pulls, hikes your thigh above his hip, and you tremble with a shaky sigh.

There's little restraint as you raise your pelvis, yearning to feel the slightest hint that Ivar is enjoying this as much as you… Sure enough, he’s grown hard. More than a hint, and not remotely slight.

You moan in unison at the friction and Ivar pulls away with a shudder. He sets his forehead on yours and you can see his eyes are clenched shut. You can't help but tease him again and lightly grind your hips upward. Ivar hisses this time. His eyes pop open and he glares down at you with a weight as heavy as what he settles into your groin.

“If you want me to stop,” he husks. “Now is the time to say so.”

You answer by wrapping your legs around him, as you trail your hands down his strong back. You look up at him and grin. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Ivar growls in response thrusting his hips into yours, but his hands are still at your sides. The two of you are moving together, mimicking the act of coupling, but you need more. The two of you are being far too polite as far as you're concerned. You grab one of his hands and press it to your breast. He kneads and you moan, finally he’s giving you the touch you want, it’s like precious relief and a build up in tension all at the same time.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he whispers before kissing his way down your neck.

You can barely form a coherent thought as his plush lips ravage your tender skin, but you manage to squeak out a breathy “How long?” If he wanted to know how long you’ve been dying for this, it's only fair you know, too.

He nips sharply at your pounding pulse point; the whine that tears from your throat doesn't even sound human.

“When I delivered your comic books,” he growls into your neck. “You were wearing ridiculously short sleep shorts and a Star Wars T shirt. You went all adorably red and bit your pretty pink bottom lip when you saw it was me. I could not stop thinking about how much I wanted to be the one doing that for hours afterwards.”

He looks up at you, and you reflexively bite your bottom lip at the lust glazed look in his eyes. He lets out a shuddering groan at the sight, pitching himself forward so he can replace your teeth with his own. The slight sting mixed with the softness of his lips is exquisite, and you wriggle underneath him in excitement.

“Why didn't you say anything sooner?” You ask when he pulls back to catch his breath. You don't know why you are still talking when you could be taking off each other’s clothes, but underneath your simmering lust, you are curious.

Once again, a flash of vulnerability crosses his handsome face. “I was not sure you would return my affections,” he says quietly. “You are so bright and full of life, so pretty and soft. I am hard and bitter, with clear emotional and physical baggage. I did not think I was someone worthy of you.”

Your heart clenches within you. You tenderly run a hand over his cheek, smiling slightly when he leans into your touch with a sigh.

“Nobody is perfect, Ivar. You may have some rough edges, but so do I. We can be good for each other, if we want to be.”

He turns into your palm and presses his lips against it. “I want to be.”

“Good, because so do I,” you say firmly, feeling your need for him once again rearing its head. “Now, that's enough emotional shit for now. It’s high time we got out of these clothes, don't you think?”

Ivar’s eyes flash as bright as his grin. Another strategic lightning strike gives you a perfect glimpse of his crunching abs as he sits up just far enough to haul his shirt off over his head with one hand.

“I wanted to do that,” you complain with a feigned pout.

Ivar only smirks at you, black fabric still balled up in his hand. “You want me to put it back on?”

You shake your head no, any more sassy words dying in your throat as Ivar leans back over you, a few loose strands of hair falling into his face.

“I will help you with yours though,” he murmurs, fingers finding the bottom edge of your t-shirt and slowly shimmying it up.

“Is it because you want to undress me, or because I know you really hate Fountains of Wayne?” you tease, referring to the logo emblazoned across the front of your shirt. The logo that is swiftly disappearing as Ivar pulls the fabric higher and higher.

“Both,” he says curtly, tugging until you lift your arms and help him draw it the rest of the way off. “I have half a mind to open the window and fling this thing out to those raging winds.”

“Don’t!” you screech, clutching at him and trying to recover your shirt. Perhaps the teasing was ruining the romance of the moment, but it’s also a great way to hide your self-consciousness at your body being first revealed to him. You rub your bare chest close to his as you reach up his long arm, squealing your defeat as Ivar whips the shirt across the room toward the trash can.

All playfulness disappears; Ivar’s face suddenly turns serious, and he sets a large palm on your chest, shoving you back down on the mattress.

Your chest heaves, flushes under his scrutiny. You knew full well how Ivar had a routine to stay in shape, but feeling his strength while writhing beneath him was something new entirely to marvel at.

For the moment you both fall quiet, reap in the sight of each other’s bodies for the first time. Ivar’s toned chest, hefty broad shoulders and defined stomach make for a good distraction of your shyness.

You force yourself to find his eyes, relieved to find he does indeed like what he sees. He sets his jaw, runs his coarse palm over your sensitive skin, evidently torn on whether or not he wants to get back to kissing you or focus his attentions on the rest of you. But he opts for the latter, quietly grunts as his hand trails to your breast. His fingertips are light as feathers, make you tremble when they teasingly dance across your nipple.

The sound that comes out of you is an awkward, fluttery laugh, and you have to mentally slap yourself. Again - this is Ivar Lothbrok. This is Ivar Lothbrok, firmly grasping onto your breast, pinching your nipple between long fingers, descending on you to suck on your neck. Finally, you manage to respond. Your back arches and you push against him. His body answers by thrusting his erection into your pelvis, eliciting a loud moan from your throat.

“You’re so hard,” you breathe, trailing your hands down his smooth and taut stomach. Just below his belly button you switch to lightly running your nails along his skin until you reach the tie to his sweats. Ivar visibly shudders above you, and you wonder if he’s used to such tender touches. He obviously knows damn well what he’s doing, but in the months you’ve known him, you’ve never seen him with a girl.

He grabs your hand and presses it to his cock. Even through the jersey fabric, it’s quite apparent that he’s well-endowed, and you wonder for a ridiculous fleeting moment if it’s possible to swoon while already lying down. “This is what you do to me,” he growls into your neck as you whimper and trace his outline with your fingers.

Ivar then puts both hands near your shoulders and uses his strong arms to fluidly push himself up. He stares down at you with an almost sinister tiny grin, and if you didn’t know him as well as you did at this point, the glare in his eyes might have frightened you a bit. But you knew this gaze meant that he was finally getting what he wanted, and was about to enjoy it. Like a hunter who had tracked his prey for miles and miles and was set to feast.

He cocks his head slightly to the side, making him appear even more like a predator. “I wonder,” he muses, speaking low and husky with an almost mocking tone. “What it is that I do to you?”

Ivar’s hand is then at the waist of your leggings in a flash, almost too quick to register in your lust-addled mind. In an instant he’s roughly pulling the fabric, along with your panties, down your thighs. He watches your body’s reactions, how your stomach muscles jump, how your breasts bounce with his jerky movements. You are much too turned on to be at all self-conscious, as he is looking down on you as if you were the perfect drug and he was in such pain without a fix.

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he pants. And the way that he says it, as if he were drowning and you were his precious air, makes you think at this point, you’d let him do anything.

You help him as he gets your remaining clothes below your knees by kicking them off and all of a sudden you’re spread naked before him. He wastes no time in answering his question of what it is he does to you, as he runs his fingers along the apex of your thighs. You relish in the long bitten-off groan he emits, as he discovers exactly how soaking wet you are. He bends down and his mouth is on your breast, his lips closing around your nipple. You feel the need to watch what is happening, and his gaze locks with yours as his tongue swirls around the sensitive skin. His blown-black pupils give a mischievous twinkle and he pushes a long finger inside you.

It feels so good that you wonder what’s louder, the storm raging outside, or you. When he sees the reaction of your back arching, practically bowing off the bed, he slips in a second finger and begins to let his lips ghost down your body.

“You like that, hm?” His voice sounds gravelly and amused. “Tell me what else you like,” he murmurs against the soft skin of your stomach, pausing his descent and waiting for your answer as he rocks his fingers slowly inside of you.

You hum your appreciation. “Mmmmmm, this feels amazing, Ivar.” His welcome intrusion is bringing wave after wave of heat to your sex; you rock your hips up to let him in deeper.

Ivar presses a circle of kisses around your bellybutton. “I can see that, yes,” he smirks, “but that was not an answer. Allow me to be more specific: how do you like to come?”

You throw your head back and groan at his blatant directness, just as another peal of thunder rumbles through the room. How did you get so lucky? Even in your fantasies, you were never sure if someone as grumpy as Ivar would turn out to be a very attentive and accommodating lover. “Will you eat me out?” You try to answer him as directly as he asked, though your cheeks burn just a little at the sound of your own words.

Ivar groans into your hipbone, like he was hoping that was how you would answer. “With pleasure,” he says as he starts to shimmy himself further down the bed, fingers slipping from you softly so he can position your legs just how he wants them. He spreads you wider, then hooks your feet over his shoulders once he’s settled in. He breathes a few more kisses up along your inner thigh as he uses one hand to separate the lips of your pussy. He captures your eyes in a long, dark look as his mouth hovers over your exposed clit, hot breath fanning it in one last tease.

“Ivar, please,” you moan, dying for him to make contact and finish what he started.

Ivar purses his lips, narrowing his eyes. “Ooh, I like the sound of that. Beg me some more.”

You look down the line of your body at him, arching one eyebrow and pushing your hips up toward his mouth. “Make me.”

You watch his tongue extend from between his grinning teeth and press firmly against you. He wastes no time being gentle, rising to your challenge with the swirling pressure of the flat of his tongue on your nub. It’s almost too much; your hips rise on their own until Ivar’s hands curl under your thighs and pull you decidedly back down to the bed. He sucks over your clit and you find yourself wailing his name. He chuckles into your body and breaks the tension long enough to tease you: “Yes, that’s what I like. I think I want you sobbing my name for the rest of the night.”

His tongue swipes and bats over you until your legs start shaking. The words coming from your mouth have turned incoherent as Ivar positively wrecks you with the pure bliss of his talented mouth. When he slides his hands up to roll your nipples precisely between his fingers you know you’re going to lose it, the multiple sensations amplifying the crescendo of your orgasm until you couldn’t hold it back even if you wanted to. “I-I-Ivar,” you wail, just because you know he wants to hear it again, and because the idea that your pleasure is giving Ivar Lothbrok pleasure is the final push that sends you careening off the edge.

He moans against you as you come, reveling in your sweet taste, the way he can feel you spasm at his greedy lips. His shoulders flex as he holds you to the bed, and your voice finally breaks off into a helpless gasp.

In an instant, he is back on top of you, cupping your face between his palms to smother you with another dizzying kiss. It’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced, you decide. Tasting yourself off of Ivar’s lips. You’re quick to wrap your arms around him, drag your still shaky hands up and down the length of his muscular back. Even go as far as to grab his ass in two tight grips, happy to find it’s just as toned as the rest of him.

Ivar seems to like that. He growls in time with a harsh thrust, shoving his cock into your sensitive flesh hard enough to make your jaw go slack. But it’s then that you realize your gross disadvantage - he’s still wearing pants.

You quickly resume what you had intended to do before and grapple with the ties to his sweats. Ivar is still stubbornly trying to kiss you, nipping at your lips in impatience at your distraction. With an aggravated huff, you smack lightly on his side. “Lay back.”

He groans as he does so, ever the brat. But it doesn’t keep you from marvelling at him all the same. Now he’s stretched out on the bed, buff chest heaving while he stares up at you with darkened beady eyes. Even through dim light, Ivar is a sight to behold. You’re only snapped out of your trance when your eyes land on the bulge that’s pitching a tent in his pants. A sultry grin is pulling at your lips as you practically throw yourself over his lap, latching one hand onto his stretchy waistband while the other busies with his ties.

Ivar makes an amused sound and rakes a hand through your hair. “Eager thing,” he chides. You feign a glare at him, and his arrogant smirk crumbles from his face as soon as you yank his pants down - the relief palpable at his freedom. He’s not even wearing underwear, which you kind of admire… Even more so when you feast on the eyeful that is his long, hard, and impressively thick cock. It’s as fucking mouthwatering as the rest of him; you almost want to hit yourself for not putting out sooner.

You half expect him to say something naughty or crude - the way his cock points directly at your face - but Ivar hisses through a deep breath, let's out a bashful whimper as you take his shaft in a firm grip. You give him an experimental stroke, feel him twitch in your hand, and get a rush of pride as his hips push slightly off the bed. Thrusting into your hand, craving more attention.

Scratch kissing your taste from his lips - this is better. Watching Ivar keen, and fall needy to the slow motions of your hand.

You stroke him some more, taking agonizing time to get used to the feel of him. Gauge each of Ivar’s expressions to figure out just how he likes it. How loose or tight you should grip, how firmly you should jerk him. You smile confidently when you circle the tip with your thumb, only to watch him grip fists into the bedsheets.

Finally, you lean in, giving him a quick swipe of the tongue just to get a taste.

“You teasing little minx.” Ivar snaps, but his shaky voice makes him worlds less intimidating now. Regardless, you do it again, this time sucking his head into your mouth before pulling away. “ _Ah_ \- _fuck_ ,” he groans at your suckling, then clenches at the hair on the nape of your neck.

He only lets you swallow him down once before both hands have you by the hair and gently force you to retreat. He sits up with a growl and pulls you to him; you have to adjust, and straddle his thighs as he drags you toward his mouth and brushes his lips on yours.

“No more,” he softly commands. “The next time I come, I want to come deep inside you, while I’m fucking you.”

“ _Ivar_ ,” you moan. It’s almost too much, the way his naked skin feels on yours, the way the room is brewing with an energy from the storm, which is growing ever stronger outside.

He takes a gentle hand to your chin and guides you to look at him, and momentarily you sober up from the dreamy and yet intense heat that’s coursing through you.

He barely raises a brow. “That round pack of pills that you keep in your medicine cabinet … are those what I think they are?”

You tilt your head to the side. “You were looking around in my medicine cabinet?”

Ivar didn’t look guilty in the least, he only gave a slight shrug. “I needed some Advil. It was that insufferable movie you made me watch last week … gave me a headache. Blame Suicide Squad.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was most certainly that bad.”

“Okay, it was bad, but like … so bad it was kinda entertaining? I mean, the jo—”

Ivar puts fingers to your lips. “I do not mean to start a discussion about D.C.’s complete failure at creating a cinematic universe. I mean to make you come again, but this time with my cock. Now … your pack of pills?”

You blink. Of course he just wants to know about your birth control, and you feel the entire weight of the moment, it practically hits you in the stomach, and travels down between your legs … you are going to have sex with Ivar. This is happening.

“Um. Yeah. We’re good.”

He gives you an impish grin. “Thank the gods. Though I would have gone outside in this hurricane to find a vending machine for condoms if need be.”

His words drive you crazy, along with the sensation of his erection pressing against your sensitive flesh. You decide that you’re done with drawing this out any longer and you push at his chest until he’s lying back again. You are both warm and flushed, your bodies reflecting a subtle golden glow from the candlelight.

You hover just at the tip of him, pausing for one more moment as a strangely long spell of lightning bursts into the room. You watch the severe white flashes dance across Ivar’s face as he grins and grabs your hips. The look in his eyes is almost savage, tinged with an overwhelming desire that shows in the knitting of his brow, as if he were experiencing the most exquisite pain. His large warm hands guide you down, fingers digging into your flesh.

You spread your knees more, allowing yourself to sink down onto his cock. At first it’s slow, hypnotic, as if you’re falling under water, but then Ivar uses his grip on you to pull you completely under, and you’re suddenly filled to the brim with him. The invasion is startling and you both cry out at the shocking pleasure of it. Your connection is so warm and slick, and you only need a moment to adjust to how thick he is, before there is an overwhelming need to move. As you begin to rock above him, Ivar’s neck arches, exposing the line of his throat, and he lets out the most delectable groan. It spurs you to move faster.

Ivar hisses in a breath and one hand is on the small of your back, the other brushing up your belly. “So good … slow,” he manages to say. “I want to watch you move.”

You give a short moan in protest, as you can already feel the beginning of another release you wish to chase, but you obey. Your pace eases and you begin to ride him slower but with more precision, pressing into him just as his hips rise to meet yours, your bodies moving together seamlessly. You realize he’s right, as these savoring and deliberate movements feel absolutely incredible, so fucking good, and yet there’s more. There’s emotion and reverence, there’s intense feelings that could be the beginning of something.

As Ivar watches your body above him, you watch his face in the candlelight. It’s dark, but you can still see him clearly, his ethereal beauty, but also the endearing way his usually perfectly groomed hair is fanned out around his face, as letting it air dry from his shower and rolling around on the bed has rendered it a mess. His eyes are heavy-lidded but locked on you, his mouth open in pleasure, his brow furrowed as if he were questioning what he was seeing, like he didn’t quite believe it. It’s a look of awe, perhaps even worship, and you’ve never felt more beautiful. His hands are slowly exploring your skin, kneading your flesh. His palms close over your breasts, his fingers squeezing, and then pinching your nipples, expertly gauging the exact amount of pressure which bordered on pain, heightening your pleasure. In a move almost too quick for you to register, his abs contract and he’s sitting up, his mouth replacing a hand on your breast, his tongue and teeth replacing his fingers. You moan, throwing your head back, grasping onto the back of his neck to encourage him to go harder, and he gives a muffled growl into your chest.

Ivar’s hips are now thrusting up into you with more force, hitting all the right spots, and you realize the control it was taking to go slow is now broken. All of the pent up emotions and attraction from the past several months is now being expressed with a passion that’s edging on frenzy, and just as suddenly as a flash of lightning can crash into a room, an orgasm rushes through you. You can hear your voice in your ears and know that it’s loud, as it mingles with Ivar’s, but the only thing you can focus on is the release as it courses through your body like an electrical current, making every inch of your skin vibrate in a euphoric haze.

"So beautiful when I make you come," he's breathes into your ear.

You only have seconds to soak up the sensation, as if you were floating, before Ivar is flipping you onto your back, the show of his strength sobering you enough to bring you back into your body as you wrap your legs around him. Ivar fucks you steady as he chases his own end, with a focused control from his hips that leaves you breathless. And even though you’re so sensitive from your orgasm, it feels incredible, as if he’s reaching to the very depths of you. You run your hands down his back, slick with sweat, feeling the power of it. You see the muscles of his shoulders and arms working above you, the way his face is contorted in absolute pleasure, and you realize the allure in watching your lover on top of you, as it was exactly what Ivar was doing to you before.

It’s not long before Ivar’s rhythm becomes erratic, and he slams into you one, two more times before he’s coming, and judging by the sound of it, he’s coming hard, loud in your ear, as he spills himself inside of you. All that strength and muscle is finally weakened, as he collapses on top of you, going slack with a sob. As you come down, you wrap your arms around him even though your limbs are feeling so very heavy, and his breathing calms down with heart wrenching whimpers into your neck.

“Shhh, baby,” you can't help but coo as you run a gentle hand through his hair. The endearment feels so natural falling from your lips, so right. “That was so good, baby, so good. You are so good.”

Ivar melts into you even further, whimpers subsiding as he nuzzles his nose into your skin. You can hear him mumbling in Danish, you can't understand the words but his tone is reverent, worshipful. The foreign words settle into your bones with a fuzzy warm feeling, and you hug him to you even tighter. It's so corny, but you feel….complete. Like a part of you that you didn't know was missing had found its way home.

“I could fall in love with you,” you find yourself whispering, and the revelation isn't as surprising as it maybe should be. Ivar presses tender kisses up your neck and along your jaw, and you turn so you can capture his soft, plush lips with your own. The kiss is sweet, slow, and full of promise.

“I think I’m halfway there,” he mumbles into your mouth, and your heart swells within your chest. You kiss for another moment, just reveling in this newfound closeness.

Then your stomach gives a huge, loud grumble.

Ivar breaks away from you, a chuckle leaving his mouth as he quirks up an eyebrow. “Did I make you work up an appetite?”

And cocky Ivar is back, you think. But you love it. You want all sides of him; the cocky, the vulnerable, the tender. You laugh along with him.

“Well, I did just have two earth shattering orgasms,” you shrug, grinning. “That does make a girl quite hungry.”

Ivar grins back. “Hold on one second.”

He slips out of you and off the bed. You sit up and tuck the blankets around you, the loss of his body heat making you feel cold. It's a lovely view though. There is nothing nicer to look at than a naked Ivar Lothbrok, you decide. Ivar rummages around in his suitcase for a moment before tossing some things up onto the bed.

“I always come prepared,” he announces, swinging himself up next to you. “We have chips, pretzels, a few apples and an assortment of juices.”

You wrinkle your nose as you pick up a juice box. “Ugh, please never use that word again.”

“What, juices?” Ivar cocks his head at you, smirking as you shudder in disgust. “You know, I could just start talking about how much I love drinking up your-”

“Shut up!” You throw a bag of pretzels at his head. His fast reflexes catch it easily before it hits him. He winks at you and you roll your eyes, but your heart is doing the biggest happy dance. The two of you settle against headboard and begin munch contentedly. You have to admit, this was not what you expected when Ivar showed up at your door this morning. No, this was far, far better. What a way to spend a hurricane.

At the thought of the hurricane still raging outside, you suddenly sit up straight with a panicked little cry.

“What?” Ivar asks around a mouthful of snacks.

“Anderson!” You babble, “I hope he’s okay!”

Ivar swallows his food and lets out a loud groan. “Please tell me you were not worrying about your stupid journalist while we were having sex.”

“Of course not,” you huff. As if you could think of anything or anyone else while that glorious thing was happening. “I just remembered him now. Do you think the power will come back on soon so I can check the TV?”

“Probably not,” Ivar reaches over, and in one swipe of his arm, clears the bed of the food. You yelp in surprise as he rips back the covers and swings himself on top of you.

“I wasn't finished!” You whine, but your body is already reacting to the feel of him above you.

“Clearly I did not do my job well enough if you are still able to think of anyone other than me,” Ivar lowers his head to mouth at your neck. Your eyes roll back slightly as your hands come up to grasp his shoulders. “The only name to pass your lips for the rest of this hurricane will be mine, do you understand?”

You tremble as his tongue begins to trace your collarbone. You want to tease him, want to reply with something witty but your thoughts have left you. There is only Ivar and you, and this beautiful new thing that is blooming between you.

“Yes, Ivar,” you whisper, and as the storm rages outside, you let yourself be swept away by the one that rages in your heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us know what you think if you're so inclined!
> 
> If you would like to geek out over Vikings (and Ivar, let's be serious) with us over on Tumblr, you can find us @underthenorthstar, @captainpoopweinersoldier (livebynight), @whenimaunicorn (ifinkufreaky), and @anniemar.


End file.
